


A Quiet Evening

by Suspicious_Popsicle



Category: Nightrunner Series - Lynn Flewelling
Genre: Canon Universe, Gen, a bit of one-sided Seregil/Alec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:03:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9446714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle
Summary: A ficlet set duringLuck in the Shadows, a couple days after Seregil brings Alec into his home at the Cockerel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A friend of mine sent me the first couple of novels, and I got really hooked really fast. ^^; I wrote this mostly just as a (very) quick trial writing these characters.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from Lynn Flewelling’s Nightrunner series and do not belong to me.

Although Seregil had an excellent memory for details and was a fair hand when it came to sketches, he was finding his current subject something of a challenge. Hatching in a few more lines of shading, he paused and stared at the half-finished drawing of a stag on the page before him. It was lacking something, lacking the sense of energy and wildness he’d glimpsed two days earlier. Closing his eyes, he thought back, remembering sunlight gleaming on warm, brown hair; the slightly sweetish animal musk; the feeling of powerful muscles beneath his palm; and the sight of those arresting blue eyes, at once familiar and strange. _Magnificent_ , he’d said. A smile tugged up the corners of his lips. Alec constantly, wonderfully, exceeded his expectations.

A warm weight settled on his shoulder, and Seregil’s eyes flew open. He hadn’t heard any movement behind him, and the first he’d known of how close Alec had gotten was when the boy had rested an arm on his shoulder in order to peer down at the sketch. So close, he could smell Alec’s skin, feel the warmth of him bleeding through even where their bodies weren’t quite close enough to touch. Eyes bright with glee, Alec grinned as Seregil side-eyed him.

“Did I startle you?” It seemed to please him that he’d managed, and Seregil smiled wryly.

“My fault for losing track of my surroundings.”

Time had gotten away from him while he’d worked. Outside, night had fallen, and a gentle rain pelted the windows. The steady wash of sound, the warm glow of lamps, and the fire flickering in the grate all combined to turn his cluttered nest into a cozy haven.

Alec leaned in suddenly, and Seregil felt his heart skip a beat. The boy’s eyes were on the desk, however. He was merely reaching for the unfinished sketch.

“Is this _me_?”

His voice held equal parts curiosity and wonder. As he stepped back, Seregil accepted the loss of his touch in exchange for the chance to study him in the firelight—thick hair gilded, eyes sparkling with fascination and reflected flames. Although their flight to Rhíminee had left him worn down, Seregil saw his grace and dexterity, and could picture how he would fill out now that he no longer had to worry about scraping by in the northern wilderness. Far more than that, however, he saw Alec’s thirst for knowledge, his intelligence and determination, his loyalty.

_Magnificent_ , Seregil thought again. It was an apt description.

Alec looked up suddenly, catching his gaze, and Seregil realized that he hadn’t answered the question.

“It was supposed to be, although it’s a poor attempt, really. Maybe I should try again. I have quite a clear recollection of Thero’s face when you went after him.” He chuckled as Alec blushed.

“I didn’t mean to,” Alec protested.

“No?” He arched a brow, watching Alec squirm under his scrutiny. “That seemed like a pretty emphatic gesture to me.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing. Not really.” He passed the sketch back. “What’s it like for you? When you’re an otter, I mean. You could speak and everything! I don’t know that I’ve ever been so surprised.”

“Wondering if you should have been more careful what little beasts made it into your traps?” He chuckled as Alec’s jaw dropped, but was quick to reassure him. “With so few wizards about these days, magic like that is extremely rare, even more so in the north. Be reassured. You wouldn’t have harmed any people wearing animal form.”

“Well, that’s relief from a worry I’d never had before.” Frowning, he dropped to sit down on a cushion next to Seregil’s chair. In the next moment, however, he shook off the concern, and looked up with questioning eyes. “So? What’s it like to be an otter?”

Seregil laughed and countered the question. “What was it like to be a stag?”

His face remained turned up, though his gaze slipped into memory as he thought about it. Seregil watching him worry at his bottom lip with his teeth, and restrained the urge to reach out and smooth a thumb over the chapped, reddened skin.

“Strange,” Alec said slowly. “I could see all right…but it was wrong somehow. Or different. The colors and the smells…even the sounds…. It was….” He paused, then shrugged and met Seregil’s gaze again. “I can’t describe it. I don’t think I was aware enough to realize I might need to. It’s all…it’s all jumbled in my head.”

“We can fix that. With the proper training, you’ll be as at ease in that form as I am in mine.”

Alec smiled and ducked his head. “I’d like that,” he murmured.

Looking down at him, Seregil watched the play of light and shadow along the side of his neck and imagined the feel of Alec’s thick, soft hair against his fingers. He wanted to replace the feeling of Alec as a stag—hard muscle and wiry hair—with that of Alec as he was—delicate, velvety skin and human warmth. The urge pulled at his resolve even after he curled his fingers into a fist and turned away, back to the desk, back to his sketch that would forever lack some intrinsic vitality.

It wasn’t the first time he had been tempted to touch Alec—to stroke his cheek or run fingers through his hair—but he wouldn’t allow himself to reach out with anything aside from friendship in his thoughts. His fingers twitched around the sensory memory of a strong pulse beating against his palm. Even when his stag form had left him almost wholly wild, Alec had still trusted him, had recognized that Seregil wasn’t a threat. Alec trusted him, and that had to come first, _always_. In this, his own growing feelings didn’t matter. He tucked them away, and let himself be content with a crackling fire, shelter from the rain, and the presence of a true and unexpected friend.


End file.
